


But I’m forever missing him

by charliepeach



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, College, Depressed Hamlet, Everybody Dies, Horatio's POV, Implied Hamlet/Horatio, M/M, POV First Person, Philosophy, Pre-Canon, Roommates, ghost - Freeform, never explicitly stated, this is sad. i cried writing it, tragic danish boyfriends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 02:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliepeach/pseuds/charliepeach
Summary: That night is never mentioned again, but Hamlet doesn’t behave like his usual self. He is more distant and cold. He has nightmares now. One terrifying night, he wakes me up to tell me that he saw someone outside the window. He told me it looked like his father. It took me a while to talk him down and convince him he was just seeing things. There would be no way his father could be outside his window. Things have been rough for him over the last few days.Basically some pre-canon Hamlet followed by the rest of the play told from Horatio's POV





	But I’m forever missing him

**Author's Note:**

> this is a creative writing assignment given to me by my Lit teacher. i really like how it turned out but i am not sure how in character i got the characters. since we don't know anything about who Hamlet was pre-play and pre depression craziness i had to make it up. this was just my interpretation.
> 
> i hope y'all enjoy it. 
> 
> -G

The golden evening sunlight shines through the library window and through Hamlet’s hair and bouncing off the gold jewels he has around his neck. We are supposed to be studying for a Philosophy exam, but while I was looking over my notes, Hamlet was making paper airplanes with spare pieces of parchment.

“Hamlet, the exam is tomorrow, and I know you haven’t studied at all so stop fooling around,” I say with a pleading voice.

He looks up from the plane he was making to say, “You know how it unsettles me, Horatio. It is just a lot of thinking and thinking and thinking. I am tired of thinking. It’s all anyone does all day, and why do we need to do it in a class. No wonder all the good philosophers went crazy. I mean, they had nothing better to do than sit around and think all day?”

Hamlet gets up from his seat and begins to pace. He continues his tirade about philosophers and their asinine ideas. I set my pen down showing him he has my full attention. I stop him in the middle of a sentence to ask, “If you hate the class so much, why are you still in it?”

“Horatio, you’ve met my father, yes?” I nod. He puts on a mocking voice of his father, “Hamlet, you are going to be King and Kings must be knowledgeable of every subject. You will hate most of it, but it is what needs to be done.”

The interpretation of his father is spot-on; it makes me laugh. “I agree with him, but I am sure he would have been fine with you just taking one class. You have been taking it for years now. And anyway, do you even want to do even want to be King?”

This question makes him stop pacing. I can see the gears turning in his head. I believe this is the first time he has even thought that he could possibly be anything else. As he thinks, the sun sets lower in the sky, only a small sliver of it remaining. It is now soft hues of pinks and purples, and the library is being lit up by only the soft lighting of multiple candles. The atmosphere of the campus is now changing. This time of night is when all of the partying starts. The library becomes barren and is about the only place that doesn’t become tainted by the noise of rambunctious laughter made louder by copious amounts of alcohol.

After a long minute of thinking, Hamlet answers. “To answer the first question, you're there. As for the second one, yes, I want to be King, and I want to be a good king. I just believe that somethings are unnecessary.”

Before I have the chance to try and change his mind, he is gathering his stuff. “I am done studying for tonight. I hear the Polo team is having a celebration for winning their last match. Don’t study too hard.”

“You, don’t forget you have a fencing tournament tomorrow so try not to get too wasted,” I yell as he walks away.

He gives me a short wave and leaves the building into the darkened night. Shortly after, I decide that I am done studying, but unlike Hamlet, I am going to bed. The next time I see him, he is stumbling into our room in the middle of the night. The noise of him coming in wakes me. The glistening moonlight, coming through the sole window we have in our room, makes only his silhouette visible.

“You’re home earlier than I thought you were going to be. I was prepared to not see you until the late afternoon,” I joke, my voice rough from unuse.

He says nothing, not even a laugh. He just slips his shoes off and silently sits on the edge of his bed. He hasn’t even acknowledged that I am in the room. I sit up in my bed, changing my position to match his.

“Hamlet, are you feeling alright? I told you not to drink too much. You know you get sick if you overwork yourself. If you throw up, you are cleaning it this time.”

He shows no sign of recognition. I am starting to get worried, but I must remain calm. I remove myself from my bed. I softly sit down next to him, trying to keep my breathing even. I put my hand on his shoulder as gently as I can, in an effort to reach him. He finally looks at me. “Horatio,” he says, “there is something wrong.” His voice is rougher than mine, and his eyes are full of fear and confusion.

I grip his arm tighter and try to move him to a laying down position, but he doesn’t budge. “You just drank too much. You will be fine once you sleep it off.”

“I didn’t drink that much.” His voice is hollow. Something must have really spooked him. Maybe there was a wild animal outside, but it is starting to get too cold for animals to be out late.

“Then what is causing you to act this way? When did you start feeling this way?” At this point, I am willing to beg for him to tell me what is wrong so I can fix it.

He meets my eyes and begins to tell his story. “I was with the Polo team and everything was fine. I was enjoying myself. I went outside to get some fresh air, and as soon as I stepped into the moonlight I got hit with a pang of crushing sadness. It was as if a dark cloud now hung over my soul. Something is very wrong somewhere.” He pauses then says in a low, scared voice, “Horatio, what if something is wrong at home?”

I rub his arm in slow, smooth motions to keep him calm, and frankly keep myself calm. “Hamlet, if something is wrong in Denmark your parents would let you know, but I am sure it is fine. I suggest you sleep. This feeling may go away after a good night's sleep.”

He nods and finally lets me maneuver him into a laying down position. He rolls over, facing the wall, and I assume he falls asleep.

That night is never mentioned again, but Hamlet doesn’t behave like his usual self. He is more distant and cold. He has nightmares now. One terrifying night, he wakes me up to tell me that he saw someone outside the window. He told me it looked like his father. It took me a while to talk him down and convince him he was just seeing things. There would be no way his father could be outside his window. Things have been rough for him over the last few days.

One rainy, miserable evening, I am walking back to our dorm room after my classes are done for the day, and I notice that our door is already open. I assume that Hamlet just forgot to shut it, but as I step into the room I see that something is very wrong. Almost all of Hamlet’s stuff is gone. It looks as if a tornado came through and wrecked Hamlet’s side of the room. Things are gone, but they are also thrown around the room. I am speechless as I walk in. There is a small scrap of paper sitting on top of my neatly made bed. It was definitely written in a rush.

_Dear good Horatio,_  
_My father is dead. I wish I had time to see you and explain more,_  
_but there is no time. If you send a letter to the castle, it will find me._  
_He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet._

I read the note multiple times and without thinking I begin writing my own letter. I want him to explain more. I need more information. I need to know if he is okay, but I never get a reply. I wait for weeks for one. As the days pass, I can feel my resolve weakening. Not knowing what is happening in Denmark is disrupting my life. I decided to find a way to get to Denmark as quick as I can.

As soon as I enter the castle walls Benardo and Marcellus are explaining to me the ghost problem. I knew Hamlet’s dead father would cause problems. The task his father gave him will not end well. Something is telling me that it will end bad and bloody. Hamlet seemed worse than before. His mother immediately marrying the man who stole his crown right from under him and possibly killed his father did nothing to improve his mood.

I know he told me he was pretending to be crazy in order to prove that Claudius killed the King, but as the days go by I can feel his sanity slipping away. He killed Polonius, an innocent man, and now Laertes wants to challenge him to a duel to avenge his father’s death. He will not win this fight. Neither one of them is in the right head-space. Laertes is full of anger and hatred. Hamlet is too focused on Claudius. He is not going to win, and he doesn’t believe me when I tell him this. If he dies, I will die with him.

* * *

They are all dead. Polonius, Ophelia, the Queen, the King, Laertes. Hamlet. The room has developed the acrid, metallic smell of blood. I am holding Hamlet as he says his last words, and, oh, how I wish he would have let me drink the poisoned wine so that I could be with him. I am still holding him when Fortinbras and his guards come in. Hamlet’s warm blood still coats my hands as I explain to Fortinbras that he is now the King of Denmark. Hamlet said that I have to be the one to tell his story to the world, but I don’t want it to be me. It shouldn’t have to be me.


End file.
